The Night of the Baleful Deception
by the lurker
Summary: Based on the TV Series: Sequel to Night of the Hard Truth. Jim is confronted with several untruths, including one from someone close.
1. Chapter One

_The Wild, Wild West_  
The Night of the Baleful Deception  
by the lurker  
  
West sat in the corner of the parlor car of the train, his head leaning into his hand. The singing from the galley car continued, causing him to sigh in annoyance. Couldn't there be just one morning that he didn't do this while puttering around in there? Jim turned to look out the window, in an attempt to distract himself from the caterwauling. The world sped by as the train chugged toward Denver and the next assignment, the trees defying the laws of inertia, as they blurred past him.   
  
Not even one week had passed: it had only been five days. Five painfully, lousy days. The tension in Jim's body increased as he recalled Grant and Richmond greeting him at the train station in Washington D.C. It had been awkward, uncomfortable and edgy all around. Richmond and Grant were afraid to say too much, and Jim had been afraid to say too little. He shook his head: it no longer mattered, things were the way they were. If he intended to continue as an agent, he was going to have to get used to it.... to him.  
  
The singing increased in volume as the perpetrator entered the main car of the train, carrying a tray full of coffee. West glared in the direction of the approaching man. He was slight, with no muscle of which to speak, thinning sandy blonde hair, and tiny, round spectacles. He looked as though he belonged in a lab, not in the field. The vivid green eyes behind the glasses glanced up expectantly at West, causing him to misstep, bobbling the tray.   
  
It was a close brush with disaster, but the man set the tray down on the table with only a slight clatter. Jim just stared at him. It was next to impossible to believe that such an uncoordinated individual had managed to pass the rigors of training, much less survived on assignment. West watched as the calamity in motion bobbled a cup and saucer, attempting to pour coffee. Jim was prepared to leap out of harm's way; it wouldn't have been the first time in the past five days.  
  
Smiling, the little pip with spectacles handed Jim the coffee, nervously spilling a little over the edge onto West's leg.  
  
  
  
Oh my....oh dear, I'm sorry. I've done it again. Here, the little man picked up a napkin from the tray, let me clean that off--  
  
Jim almost jumped off the divan, No, no, he smiled nervously, that really won't be necessary, thanks. I can take care of it.  
  
West took the napkin and cleaned himself off. He wanted nothing more than to abandon this pain in his posterior at the nearest train station. Or better yet, out in the middle of nowhere. What in the hell had Richmond been thinking? This was his idea of a replacement for Arte? An immediate pall fell over Jim's face: there would never be a replacement for Artemus. He stared into his coffee, wondering when the sadness he felt would dissapate, if ever. Jim felt so alone.  
  
He observed Solomon as the man meticulously sipped his coffee, wiping the napkin across his lips after every swallow. _Five days _felt like _five years_. His thoughts drifted again to Arte. He wondered where he was and what he was doing. Jim hadn't had the presence of mind to ask him where he was going, what he would do, or....... Or how West would know when it was over. But then, Arte would have thought of it and arranged something.  
  
Once again, he stared into his coffee cup: no doubt he would receive a telegram one day, and that would be that. No funeral, no good-byes, just gone. Jim wanted nothing more than to go in search of his partner, and be with him through the end; but the look in Arte's eyes when he told Jim he didn't want to subject him to the deterioration, prevented him. He knew he had to let him go.   
  
He set the cup down with more force than he intended. Artemus had not given him a choice. West stood, tugged down on his vest and straightened his cravat. The smallish voice squeaked out at him, rather like nails across a chalk board.  
  
Don't you think we ought to make a plan?  
  
West stared at the little man before him, a strained look upon his face.  
  
What do you have in mind?  
  
The green eyes lit up, Now that you've asked, I actually have several ideas.  
  
Excitedly, the pip jumped up and ran to the desk. He opened the top drawer and pulled out what appeared to be hundreds of pieces of scrap paper, all of them filled with unintelligible scribbles. Jim gaped in disbelief. For someone who was so meticulous in drinking coffee, he was a made professor in the note plotting department. Arte had always taken notes neatly in a journal. Jim frowned as the little man brought the memos over to him, foisting them into his hands.  
  
See? I have tons of ideas on how we can approach this assignment.  
  
West sighed deeply,   
  
--This one is about using disguises to sneak into the--  
  
  
  
And this one, this is my favorite, we can use some toys I've created to--  
  
  
  
  
  
Why don't you pick out your top five, write them down neatly on one piece of paper, and then we can discuss them.  
  
Oh. If that's how you and Mr. Gordon did it, Mr. West.  
  
Jim's voice turned icy, How Mr. Gordon and I did things has nothing to do with us. Do you understand? Solomon nodded, so West continued, And Marvin, don't call me Mr. West. It's Jim or James, got it?  
  
The little man nodded again, and Jim decided to get some air.  
  
Fine. I'm going to check on the horses.  
  
Marvin watched the most famous and much talked about Jim West exit, heading toward the stable car. In D.C., there had been much discussion and supposition regarding the sudden resignation of the West's partner, Artemus Gordon. Some said that the men had had a falling out; others thought Gordon had simply grown tired of living in Jim West's shadow; and there were those who said it was something far more covert.   
  
Solomon shuffled the slips of paper in his hands, and headed toward the desk, tripping over the leg of the divan on his way. If Gordon left the Secret Service, there had to have been a reason, and Marvin doubted that it was due to a falling out, or some kind of ego trip. The idea of something circumspect seemed not only more interesting, but far closer to the truth. Perhaps there would be time to discover an answer to the mystery of the great West/Gordon breakup, during the investigation of the latest counterfeiting operation in Denver.  
  
At least Marvin hoped so.  



	2. Chapter Two

Jim took a large swallow of wine: there wasn't enough wine on the table to blot out the noise of the little man across from him; nor was there enough on the train to mask the hole in the core of his being. And much to West's dismay, Marvin was still talking.  
  
...I've also come up with this handy-dandy button tablet, that when pulled off a vest or jacket and placed in liquid, dissolves into a sleeping drug. There are a lot of things we can use that I've created once we're face to face with the counterfeit ring. Of course, getting on the inside is another challenge altogether, but I have a few ideas that could....."  
  
As Solomon's voice droned on, Jim tried to keep his eyes from crossing in exasperation. How long could the man talk? Eventually he was going to have to take a breath; or at least West hoped so.....  
  
I really think our best shot at luring the counterfeiters out of hiding is to pretend we are their competition--  
  
--Hold it.....that's not bad, Marvin.  
  
The green eyes beneath the spectacles grew widely, Really? You like my idea?  
  
It has possibilities, yes.  
  
The talkative Solomon was suddenly speechless. West tried prompting him.  
  
Well, Marvin?  
  
Well....what, sir?  
  
How are you at deception?  
  
Me, Mr. West?  
  
I don't see anyone else in here....  
  
You mean like false identities, disguises, cloak and dagger stuff...  
  
Jim tried to conceal the smile that was pulling at his lips, Yeah, the cloak and dagger stuff. Are you any good at it?  
  
I...I've never actually gone undercover, Mr. West, I'm not really sure that I'll be at all convincing.  
  
How many assignment have you completed?  
  
  
  
Why do you keep repeating me? Just tell me how many times you've been out in the field.  
  
I haven't _exactly_ been out in the field, Mr. West.  
  
West's brow furrowed, Well what _exactly_ did you do in Washington?  
  
I was mostly in a lab, sir.  
  
In a lab...  
  
  
  
Jim couldn't keep the aggravation from his voice, Inventing _what_, Marvin?  
  
Gadgets, mostly.  
  
  
  
  
  
First Jim couldn't get the man to stop chattering about nothing, and now, it was like trying to pry open a clam in August. Jim shook his head.  
  
Can you be a little more specific, Marvin?  
  
It's classified, sir.  
  
_Classified? _ Jim tried to keep the sneer from showing on his lips.  
  
What is your clearance level, Marvin?  
  
You mean my grade?  
  
_What is it?_  
  
Four, sir.  
  
Jim looked like a shark moving in on its prey, And I'm a nine, so I think you can tell me in detail what it was you were doing in Washington, Marvin.  
  
I worked on devices that agents use in the field.  
  
But you've never been _in_ the field..... Richmond has lost his mind....   
  
I'm uhm...I'm going to go get some coffee....  
  
Solomon fidgeted nervously, and headed toward the door. He turned to look at West, tripped on a chair, and fell toward the coffee table, barely catching himself on the back of the another chair. Jim just stared at the odd little man.  
  
Would you uh, like some coffee, Mr. West?  
  
No, Marvin. And _please_, stop calling me Mr. West. Do you think you can manage that?  
  
the man fidgeted nervously, I'm just going to get some coffee then, Jimmy - sure you don't want any?  
  
  
  
Marvin slipped out the door before West could recover from the shock he felt. _Jimmy?_ The little pip called him _Jimmy_. Sighing heavily, Jim sank into the nearest chair, covering his eyes with his hand. _Jimmy._ How much worse could this become?  



	3. Chapter Three

The train pulled onto a side track at the outskirts of Denver in the wee hours of the morning. James West was already awake. He stepped out of the parlor car and onto the rear platform. Drawing in a deep breath of cool air, he admired the tall pines. His thoughts turned to Arte. There hadn't been a word from him in almost a week, and it weighed heavily on Jim's mind.  
  
He watched the sun as it slowly peaked over the mountains, revealing all the beautiful colors of spring. The ground was a deep green, with pink, blue and gold flowers adorning it here and there. The sun brushed an intense orange sprinkled with rays of yellow, against the blue sky, pushing away the last remnants of darkness. And yet, the shroud covering his heart, remained.  
  
Jim went back inside and sat down at the telegraph key. He began tapping out the dots and dashes comprising the question that burned in his mind.  
  
_Have you heard from Gordon?  
  
_The singing from the galley disrupted the calm of the room. Jim closed his eyes. It was just another morning, the start of a mission, and another day without Arte. He sighed heavily and stared at the still telegraph. He needed to concentrate on the mission ahead. He would begin with inquiries in town, that was an easy decision; the big question was what to do with Marvin. Jim lacked any confidence in his new partner's ability in the field, much less undercover.  
  
The door to the parlor car opened, and Solomon entered, tripping on his own shoe, bobbling the coffee tray. He took it in stride and smiled at Jim. At the very least, the man was overly chipper in comparison to Jim's pensive mood.  
  
Good morning, Jimmy.  
  
Marvin set the tray down, and Jim watched the man's smile grow wide. He cleared his throat, preparing to make an announcement, as though he might proclaim the cure to the common cold.  
  
I have a plan.  
  
West just stared: it was going to be a long day.  



	4. Chapter Four

Jim walked into the busy saloon, scanning the crowd as he made his way to the bar. It was a mixed group, as one would expect in Denver. There were bankers of means dressed in tailored finery; miners, covered in dirt and sweat; and cowboys fresh from the range. Jim sauntered over to the bar, tilted his hat back, and leaned on one elbow.   
  
The bartender approached West, "What'll you have?"  
  
"Shot of whiskey."  
  
The man poured West a drink, and Jim tossed some coins on the bar. He picked up the shot glass and turned to lean his back against the solid oak curvature, one foot hooked on the brass rail at the bottom. Jim took a sip of his whisky and watched the crowd. He glanced down at the end of the bar, and a man in a loud suit with a moustache quickly looked away. Jim frowned; he had never seen a suit scream quite like that. The man took a long drink of his beer, and when he pulled the mug away, his moustache remained in the head. The man quickly pulled the mustache from the foam, brushed it off, and tried to stick it back onto his face. It was crooked to say the least. Jim shook his head, and returned his attention to the room.  
  
There were a few poker games in progress at the tables, and some extremely lively conversations. A few men were entertaining the saloon girls, and others were standing at the bar, drinking and carrying on with the barkeep. It was the table on his left toward the back that captured his attention, however. The four men sat quietly at the table, shot glasses in front of each, a bottle in the center. They sipped infrequently at the whisky; they weren't there to drink. They were engaged in the same activity as West - observation.  
  
Jim tossed back the last of his whiskey and set the glass on the bar. Adjusting his hat, he walked over to the quiet table.  
  
Can I interest you boys in a game of poker?  
  
The men stared at West in stony silence.  
  
It just looked like you fellas needed something to do.....  
  
A burly man with a mustache answered gruffly, Does it now?  
  
Yes, what do you say?  
  
I'd say you're sticking your nose where it ain't wanted, another fellow answered.  
  
Jim smiled, Really? Why is that?  
  
The burly man replied, We don't like strangers.  
  
Then let me introduce myself, the name's West, James West. Now we're not strangers. If you don't like cards, we can play twenty questions. I can ask the questions, you can answer.  
  
The burly man stood up, drawing his gun, How about I shoot, you drop dead?   
  
Jim sprang into action by upending the table on the burly man, and sending a right hook into the jaw of the man next to him. Two of the men jumped him, knocking him to the floor. West punched one in the face and kicked the other in the ribs. The third man leapt at Jim, who simply rolled out of the way, the man landed with a thud, dazing himself slightly.  
  
The two men recovered and Jim jumped to a chair, using it as a spring board. He flew through the air at them, taking each one down with an arm. The burly man shook his head, gripped his firearm and pointed it once more at West.  
  
That's as far as you're going, West.  
  
The man in the loud suit approached, adjusting his spectacles, Drop the gun.  
  
The burly man laughed heartily, What have we here? A little bug in a clown suit?  
  
The small man reached for his holstered gun, I'm going to--   
  
His gun seemed to be stuck in the holster.   
  
He tried again, I'm going to--   
  
Still it wouldn't budge.   
  
The little man's face fell, Damn it...  
  
The burly man laughed and punched the man in the loud suit, sending him careening through the room, landing in a heap on the floor, dazed. Jim used the distraction to his advantage, and slammed into the burly man's legs, toppling him like a giant tree. The gun fell from his hand, landing several feet away. West grabbed a bottle on a nearby table, and smashed the burly man over the head.   
  
One down.  
  
Once more, the two men came toward Jim. He grabbed a chair, and smashed it into the midsection of one of them, hitting the man hard over the head as he instinctively fell forward. West hit him again, and the man sank unceremoniously to the floor.   
  
Two down.  
  
The other man grabbed Jim from behind, choking him around the neck. Jim gripped the man's arm with both of his hands, trying to free himself. Bending his knees slightly, Jim pulled the man over his head, throwing him to the floor. He knelt down and landed two solid punches to the man's jaw, knocking him out.   
  
Three down.  
  
Jim turned to get the fourth man, and found himself staring into the barrel of a shotgun.  
  
You don't know when to quit, do you?  
  
I guess not.  
  
In a fast move, Jim grabbed the long barrel and pulled it toward him, butting the man's head with his own. He pulled the gun into his hands, and smashed the butt of it in an uppercut to the man's face, then another to his arm. Jim tossed the gun to the floor, grabbed the man by the scruff of his jacket, and ran him head first into the solid oak bar. He collapsed to the floor.   
  
And then there were four.  
  
West looked at the shocked crowd, He didn't want to buy me a drink.  
  
In the rush to buy the man in the blue suit his choice of beverages, Jim pulled the little man in the loud suit off the floor, shaking him awake.  
  
Come on, Marvin, this is no time to take a nap.  
  
Solomon was groggy and not quite with it, Did we win, Jimmy?  
  
Yeah, Marvin, _we_ did.  
  
West quickly guided the woozy Solomon to the door and then to the horses, before the pack of men regained consciousness. He had completed his objective: established that the counterfeiters had a presence in the town, and let them know he was there and had pegged them. It would only be a matter of time before they sought him out and took him right where he wanted to go. The only question was what he was going to do with Solomon. The man was nothing short of a liability in the field.  
  
Jim thought of Arte, and wished his partner was there to help him. He missed him more than he could have put into words.  
  
*******  
  
West handed Solomon an ice pack, and the small man held it gingerly to his head.  
  
The men at the saloon are part of the counterfeiting ring?  
  
I'm sure of it.  
  
Marvin studied his partner; the man wasn't telling him everything.  
  
What aren't you telling me?  
  
Jim looked sharply at him; for seeming to be such a bumbler, he had a keen power of observation. Maybe Richmond wasn't crazy after all.  
  
Marvin promped him, You think you know who's behind this, don't you...  
  
Jim ignored his new partner, and sat down at the telegraph key, tapping out a message to Washington. It was a quick report on what had transpired in the saloon, and once again, he inquired about Gordon. The response came quickly, informing him that his message was received, and also that they had no word on his former partner. In addition, there was a warning, reminding West the danger to the country's ecomony should the market become flooded with counterfeit bills. Sighing, Jim stood up and headed toward the galley car. Marvin's voice was soft, but pointed.  
  
Do you mind if I ask you about Artemus Gordon?  
  
Jim froze in mid step, his back to Solomon. Without turning, he answered icily.  
  
Yes, Marvin, I mind. I mind a great deal.  
  
West walked out of the main car, leaving Solomon to ponder what it all meant.  
  
*******  
  
The sound of metal plates coming together with great force filled the abandoned mine shaft. Several men worked near the press, some replacing paper, some adding ink; others were cutting the finished pages into the perfect currency. The four men from the saloon entered through a tunnel, and peeled off into different directions. Three of them starting working in the room, and the burly man continued on his way through another tunnel. He made his way through that tunnel, and entered an area where several workmen were laying track and spikes for an underground railway.  
  
The work zone was stifling from the heat and lack of ventilation. The men were working quickly, as much from the desire to get out of the hot space, as fear of the man who employed them. The burly man watched the large man with dark hair stop working, pull a red bandana from his back pocket, and wipe the sweat from his face and neck. The man had a crooked nose, heavy brows and bad teeth. The burly man didn't like him. The tall man looked up, his accent thick and Australian.  
  
Hey mate, when do we get some grub?  
  
When I say you do.  
  
What are we puttin' all this track in down here for, mate? Seems like a waste of a lot of hard sweat....  
  
The burly man moved into the face of the Aussie, You don't need to know nothing', just get back to work.  
  
The Aussie glared at him, and spit his chewing tobacco out on the ground, Can't expect a man to keep workin' in this heat without no grub....  
  
After making his case, the Aussie turned back to work. The burly man promised himself to keep his eye on that one; he seemed like trouble. He walked toward a ladder built on the wall of the shaft, and climbed up it. The Aussie watched him out of the corner of his eye.  
  
*******  
  
The burly man could hear the singing in the hallway. He hated it when they sang, although he didn't mind watching the woman, she was a looker. He took a deep breath, and entered the lavish room, waiting to be acknowledged. They didn't seem to notice him. He became uncomfortable as the duet continued, the striking of the harpsichord keys raising the hackles of his spine. Finally the song came to an end, and the tiny man with the big brain jumped down from the chair he was standing on.  
  
He kissed the hand of the beautiful woman, That was lovely, Antoinette. Now off you go, I think it's time for tea.  
  
She smiled at him and floated out of the room. The little man looked at the brute standing just inside the door, and his features clouded over with a pout, his voice taking on a timbre of annoyance.  
  
What is it _now_, Kessler?  
  
The man fidgeted, nervously passing his weight between his two feet, I just wanted to let you know we've completed the first set of dough.  
  
Currency, Kessler, not dough. The former you spend, the latter you eat.  
  
Yeah, whatever you say, doc. It's ready to go, just give the word.  
  
The little man smiled, We're going to topple the United States Government, Kessler, and no one will be able to stop us.  
  
Kessler started out then turned back, Oh, and that West fella you were so interested in--  
  
--West? What about him?  
  
He showed up in town today.  
  
Was he alone?  
  
No, he had a partner, just like you said.  
  
The man's laughter filled the room, I knew it was a lie. West and Gordon would never split up. Did you have trouble with them?  
  
West is formidable, but the other one..... he couldn't even get his gun out of its holster.  
  
A frown covered the doctor's face, That doesn't sound like Artemus Gordon, especially if James West was at risk. Describe him.  
  
He was a slight fella, skinny....  
  
Taller than West?  
  
No, about three inches smaller, and bony.  
  
You're sure there was no one else with them?  
  
As sure as can be, without knowing this Gordon guy.  
  
He's tall, fleshy, dark hair. Annoying smile, and an even more annoying sense of humor.  
  
Didn't see nobody like that in the saloon all day. And we was lookin'.  
  
What a comfort.... It's of no consequence, Kessler. Mr. West is here, in Denver. With or without Artemus Gordon, the game is about to begin!  
  
Kessler watched as the little man known as Dr. Miguelito Loveless jumped up and down, clapping his hands together in glee. It made Kessler's skin crawl.  



	5. Chapter Five

West slowed his horse down and jumped off next to the stable car of the train.  In no particular hurry, Jim led the horse up the ramp, fed, watered and brushed the animal. Arte's mare neighed in jealousy. Marvin gave her the basics, but didn't really pay her the attention that she was used to. Jim stepped into her stall and began brushing her. She snorted in contentment, nudging him with her nose.   
  
"It's okay girl. I know you miss him. So do I."  
  
Jim set the brush down, gave both the horses some hay, and went into the main car. He tossed his hat and jacket on the nearest chair and closed the door.  
  
"Marvin, I'm--"  
  
Jim stopped cold. The little pip was standing in the middle of the car, staring at him. The look on his face sent Jim's stomach into his throat.   
  
"What is it?"  
  
Solomon swallowed hard, and moved cautiously toward West, holding a telegram out in front of him.  
  
"This arrived for you a little while ago."  
  
Jim took the piece of paper, knowing what it said. Marvin blinked slightly at him, and slowly brushed past him.  
  
"I'm.....I'm sorry."  
  
Marvin exited quietly, leaving Jim frozen in place for several minutes. Silently he walked over to the window, the telegram tightly clutched in his hand. For a long time, Jim stood, stoically staring out the window, seeing nothing. Finally he unfolded the paper in his grasp, and read what he already knew:

Gordon passed on STOP  
Buried in Phoenix STOP  
Condolences from all STOP  
Richmond STOP

  
Jim slammed his eyes shut, grinding his teeth into a grimace, his right hand crumpling the telegram. Steeling himself against the pain in his heart, West looked back out into the trees beyond the window, as the tears fell from his eyes. In that unbearable moment of loss, Jim no longer cared about anything. Artemus was gone forever, and that was all he knew.  
  
*******  
  
West had been asleep for a few hours, when Marvin slipped quietly into the parlor car, and sat down at the telegraph key. A small smile crept onto his face; he was finally in the know, and had scooped everyone in D.C. He tapped out the first line of Jim's telegram in morse code. As he closed the fake books that hid the machine, his smile turned into a frown. Something didn't feel right. _Gordon, dead._ It wasn't the answer to the mystery of the West/Gordon team that he had anticipated.  
  
Marvin couldn't help but wonder how the man died, and why West had not seemed at all surprised upon receiving the news. He looked like he lost his best friend without looking at the telegram. It didn't add up: At least not yet.  
  
*******  
  
Sweat dripped off the Aussie's brow and trickled down his face and into his soaked shirt. He was hot, tired and his body ached all over from the hard labor he had subjected it to. He straightened his back for a moment, the muscles straining against the movement. It had been a long day.  
  
One of the other men growled at him, "Hey.....who told you it was quitin' time?"  
  
The Aussie glared at the man, "Calm down, mate, I'm just stretchin' my achin' back."  
  
"You're not paid any less 'n the rest of us, we ain't totin' the line fer ya."  
  
"Is that so?"  
  
"Yeah, it's so."  
  
"I don't remember askin' ya ta tow the line for me, mate. Nor do I remember you bein' crowned King of bloody Australia."  
  
A fist slammed into the Aussie's face, sending him backward into a rock wall. He shook his head to clear it, and reached up to wipe away the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.  
  
"I'm not fightin' ya, mate."  
  
"Then you're gonna be awful beat up.... _mate."_  
  
The man grabbed the Aussie by his shirt and tossed him over his head, throwing him hard to the ground. He pounced on top of him and began beating the bigger man with all his might. The Aussie responded by kicking the man in the gut, sending him through the air. He pulled the man up from the ground, and shoved him into the nearest wall, pressing his arm against the man's wind pipe. The man began gasping for air.  
  
"Now mate, I suggest that you drop it. Otherwise, you're gonna find breathing awfully difficult."  
  
The man nodded in acquiescence and the Aussie removed his arm. A gruff voice from behind the two men, made them turn.  
  
"What do you think you're doin'?"  
  
The Aussie scratched the back of his head, "Just solvin' a little disagreement, mate, nothin' beyond that."  
  
"What's your name?"  
  
"Burton Lawless."  
  
Kessler's face turned into a nasty grin, "Fightin' ain't permitted, Lawless, I'll have ta fine ya."  
  
Lawless grinned back, "I don't suppose it matters any to you who started it?"  
  
"Nope. I've decided you're payin' for it. Follow me."  
  
Lawless wiped his brow with his red bandana as he headed toward the exit with Kessler. At least he wouldn't be in the hot, sticky mine shaft any more. That was something.  
  
*******  
  
He stood in front of the large area, pinching up his nose. The stench was enough to knock out a moose.  
  
Kessler smiled, "We need the latrines dug out, Lawless."  
  
"From the smell o' things, mate, it hasn't been done in awhile."  
  
"You'd better get crackin' then...._mate_."  
  
Lawless picked up a shovel. It was going to be a long night.  
  
*******  
  
Jim spotted the blind street vendor on his way to the saloon. The man was selling bags of cracked walnuts for a nickel. Business did not appear to be very brisk. West noted that if the man were not blind, he would have had the perfect vantage point to monitor the comings and goings of the saloon. He stopped at the vendor's cart and flipped a nickel in the man's cup. The man held out a bag of nuts.  
  
"You'll enjoy these, they're very fresh."  
  
"Thank-you." West opened the bag and ate one, "You're right, they're perfect." He lowered his voice, "Any sign of the men from the other day?"  
  
"I'm afraid not. It's been pretty quiet."  
  
"Guess we'll have to do something about it then. Are you ready?"  
  
"As I'll ever be, Jimmy."  
  
"All right then, here we go..."  
  
West walked away, and headed into the saloon. The blind man packed up his cart and wheeled it down an alleyway. He quickly pushed it into a corner, pulled out a make-up kit and a mirror, and began reinventing himself.....  
  
*******  
  
To be continued....


	6. Chapter Six

Jim sat in the corner of the saloon, sipping lightly at a whiskey. A bookwormish man in a business suit entered the saloon. He was smallish and conservative looking, with a tightly trimmed mustache on his upper lip. The man walked to the bar, and ordered a beer. The barkeep set the mug in front of him; he reached into his pocket, extracting a five dollar bill. The man put the bill on the bar and the bartender stared at him.  
  
The businessman looked at the barkeep over the edge of his mug, Don't you have any change?  
  
The bartender picked up the bill and stared at it, then again at the man, I can change it....have to go in the back.  
  
A moment later, the barkeep reappeared, and placed the change in front of the businessman. West observed the proceedings with feigned disinterest. He found Marvin's disguise to be convincing, if not slightly amusing. He wondered how long they would have to wait before the other shoe dropped. Jim leaned back in his chair, and Solomon settled into his spot at the bar, drinking his beer; it could be quite some time before anyone made a move.  
  
*******  
  
He couldn't remember feeling so dirty. Between his own sweat, and the stench of the latrines around him, he could barely stand being around himself. He stood up straight and winced as his back pulled in protest. He set the shovel down and looked at the old beat-up watch in his pocket. It was almost morning, and he had been working for almost 24 hours straight. He shook his head: he was getting too old for this business.   
  
The Aussie let out a long sigh of air, and sat down on a nearby rock, rubbing the back of his neck with his dirt-covered hand. The booming voice above him on the catwalk almost made him jump.  
  
Who told you to take a break, Lawless?  
  
He looked up into the grinning face of Kesler, I been on my feet for almost 24 hours straight, mate, I just needed to take a break.  
  
You can take a break when your work's finished. We don't pay ya to sit on your laurels. You pulled this duty as a punishment for your fightin'....now get up.  
  
The Aussie just glared defiantly at him. Kesler pulled a whip from a nail on the wall, and snapped it at the man, tearing his shirt, and cutting into his skin. Lawless grabbed his arm in pain, and was surprised at the amount of blood seeping from the slash in his shoulder.  
  
I said, get up, Lawless.  
  
Before he could move, the whip flew at him again, this time catching him across the brow, opening a deep gash. Lawless cried out in pain, and pulled the bandana from his pocket, covering his brow. Distracted by the discomfort, the Aussie was still sitting. Kesler was winding up for another strike, but was stopped in mid move by the annoyed voice heading his way.  
  
Kesler! Stop! What do you think you're doing?  
  
N-nothing, doctor, I'm just--  
  
--Put that thing down before you hurt somebody with it.  
  
Kesler looked at his feet, and then silently hung the whip back on the nail.  
  
The doctor chastised him further, Really, Kesler, how do you expect to get the best work from men, when you beat them with a whip? An ounce of honey is worth an entire gallon of vinegar, my dear mother used to say... besides, I have something important I need you to do.   
  
Lawless looked up toward the catwalk, and almost dropped his bandana. Standing next to Kesler, sporting a grin as wide as the Missouri, was none other than Dr. Miguelito Loveless. The Aussie closed his eyes and groaned, leaning his head into his hand: things had just become a lot more complicated.  



	7. Chapter Seven

Jim pulled his hat down over his face when the gang he was waiting for entered the saloon. The burly one walked up to the businessman at the bar, his men standing nearby. He ordered a whiskey and downed it as soon as the barkeep set it on the bar, then he turned to the small man next to him.  
  
Where ya from, partner?  
  
The businessman looked around, then at the burly man, Excuse me, are you talking to me?  
  
Kesler laughed heartily, I don't see no one else around, partner. Where ya from?  
  
  
  
Just passin' through then, are ya?  
  
Actually sir, I'm here on business.  
  
Really? And what business would that be?  
  
The man's lips curled up into a small smile,   
  
Bankin'.....bankin' he says.  
  
The burly man and his boys shared a long laugh.   
  
I've heard you're carryin' some pretty funny money in your pocket.  
  
Funny? I don't know what you mean. Money's money.  
  
Kesler grabbed the banker by the lapel, shoving him into the bar. He reached into the smaller man's pockets and pulled out a wad of cash.  
  
This is what I'm talkin' about. Funny, money.  
  
Sweat began to collect on the banker's brow, It's just money, I don't see wha--  
  
--Shut-up you little weasel, before I make you eat it. The boss don't want nobody movin' in on our market. Now you're coming with us, and you're gonna answer some questions.  
  
The banker swallowed hard, Can't I just answer them here?  
  
No. Now move.  
  
Reluctantly, the banker went with the gang of men. Kesler didn't notice the well-muscled man slip out of the saloon behind them, shadowing their trail back to the mine.  
  
*******  
  
West waited until the last one had entered what appeared to be an abandoned mine shaft, then he quietly followed them in. He pulled a match from his jacket, lighting it against the bedrock wall. Slowly Jim moved forward, following the footprints on the dirt floor. Through tunnel after tunnel, he wound his way downward, until finally the footprints stopped. The only problem was that they stopped at a solid wall.  
  
There had to be a way to move the rock aside. Jim dropped the match he was currently holding into the dirt, and began feeling the wall. Finally his hand hit an iron spike. He tried twisting it, but it wouldn't budge; it moved easily however, when Jim pulled down on it. The wall in front of him slid open, allowing light from the next passageway into the corridor West was still in.   
  
Cautiously Jim peered into the cavern; there was no one around. He quickly moved through the empty space and down the next passage. West stopped short when an unfamiliar sound floated toward him. It sounded like metal against metal. Frowning, he followed it. As he drew closer, he could hear other sounds and movements.   
  
Jim ducked behind an alcove as a man headed toward him. As soon as the man was past him, West jumped, quickly knocking the man unconscious. He moved closer to the entryway to the shaft with the noise. It didn't surprise him to find a money press, sheets of currency paper, and gallons of ink. Men moved about their business, unaware of the intruder observing them.   
  
There were too many of them for him to gain access through this room. Hugging the far wall, West made his way past the room, and through the next corridor. The tunnel took a left turn, and Jim guessed he was moving around the room with the printing press. He stopped when he heard the sound of working men pounding spikes into the ground. Jim leaned carefully around the corner and caught sight of the underground railroad work. There was a ladder hanging off the wall to the right.  
  
Moving swiftly, Jim picked up an unused pickax and walked by the working men, toward the ladder. He dropped the ax and quickly ascended the steps, moving unseen into the upper level of the mine. West found himself in the hallway of what appeared to be a lavishly furnished mansion. He heard the conversation coming from behind a door on his right.  
  
Looking both ways down the corridor and seeing no one, Jim walked to the door and leaned closer to eavesdrop. He recognized the voice from within, and cringed.  
  
Tell me, dear sir, what is your name, and who are you working for? Mind you, I do not take kindly to liars. It's terribly....rude.  
  
Solomon's voice sounded slightly shaken, I told you. My name is Marvin Solomon, and I'm a banker from Boston. I don't understand why you've brought me here.  
  
Well Marvin Solomon, if that is your name, I don't believe that you're a mere banker from Beantown, no. Bankers don't usually carry counterfeit money. And bad counterfeit to boot!  
  
Bad? My dear man, while it may be counterfeit, I take exception to your calling it _bad_.  
  
Oh but it is, Mr. Solomon. The paper isn't quite heavy enough, and the ink....the ink is too light.  
  
Who died and appointed _you_ king for a day?  
  
Jim had to stifle a laugh at the doorway; Marvin was giving the twisted little doctor quite a turn.  
  
Who are you working for, Mr. Solomon?  
  
I'm a businessman--  
  
Kesler broke in, --Movin' in on our business.  
  
Shut-up Kesler. You can't see past the money, can you?  
  
But another counterfeiter in Denver, Loveless, it'll cut into our business.  
  
Loveless laughed, Yes, if we were simply in it for the spending frenzy, it could be a problem; however--  
  
--That's not what the good doctor has in mind at all, is it?  
  
Very good, Mr. Solomon, you catch on quite quickly. Now, tell me, just why would I put all this counterfeit cash into the economy?  
  
Marvin thought for a moment, It's the quickest way to wreak havoc on our government. If you flood the market with fake money, you'll falsely inflate the economy. Eventually, the bottom will fall out, and it could topple our entire country.  
  
Loveless walked over to Solomon, smiling. He reached out and ripped off the mustache, causing Marvin to wince.  
  
If I had to guess, Mr. Solomon, I would say that you are with the United States Secret Service. And if you're here....Mr. West can't be far behind.  
  
Marvin glared at the man, and said nothing.  
  
I am confused about one thing though......if you're partnering with James West, where is Mr. Gordon? Loveless waited, but the man was not forthcoming. Cat got your tongue, Mr. Solomon? Hmmm?  
  
Crouched by the door, Jim closed his eyes. The pain of loss was still so fresh. And the distraction kept him from hearing the men behind him. One of them grabbed his gun, and pointed it at him.  
  
Don't do anything stupid.....now, open the door. Let's go inside.  
  
Jim turned the knob and walked in. Loveless looked up and his eyes lit up like candles.  
  
Well, well...Mr. West. I was just becoming acquainted with your.....new partner? Tell me, where is our dear Artemus?  
  
He saw the pain cloud the crystal blue eyes.  
  
Mr. West.....has something happened to him?  
  
West's eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a sneer, He's dead, Loveless. Does that make you happy?  
  
Loveless studied West for a moment, not willing to take his words at face value. It could merely be a trick to keep him off balance. He half expected Gordon to come busting in on them at any minute. But the good doctor was nothing if not a decent judge of human behavior. West and Gordon had been close friends for several years; Loveless could see the tension in West's face, the slight slump in his shoulders, and especially the sadness in his eyes. Whatever else Loveless knew James West to be, he knew the man couldn't fake the grief he was now seeing. The loss was real.  
  
The little doctor frowned, and his voice was soft, No, Mr. West, it does not make me happy. Despite what you may think, I haven't wished that on either of you.....except of course unless it was by my own hand.  
  
How...nice for you.  
  
Still droll as ever, Mr. West; even in the face of what I can only imagine must be the depths of despair for you. What does it feel like, to lose your best friend?  
  
Before he even knew what he was doing, Jim leapt toward Loveless, but was knocked square in the jaw by Kesler. He landed hard on the floor.  
  
And as impetuous as ever, I see. Really Mr. West....and in front of your new partner, too.  
  
Jim shook his head as he stood up.  
  
What do you want, Loveless?  
  
Want, Mr. West? Why what I've always wanted of course: to topple this overblown, wasteful government run by men who are too big for their britches.  
  
Jim smiled, Same Loveless, different day.  
  
Loveless moved closer to Marvin, Tell me West, how did you get _this_ as a replacement for your dear, departed Mr. Gordon.  
  
Marvin piped up, You really are quite a bore, aren't you?  
  
Solomon was rewarded with a slap on the back of the head from one of the doctor's henchman.  
  
Mind your manners, Mr. Solomon, you're the new player here...and I'll tell you; you don't have Artemus Gordon's charm. At least when he was sarcastic, it was amusing. Loveless looked back at West, What happened to him, if I may ask?  
  
What's it to you?  
  
Now Mr. West, we are old friends, you, Artemus and I....was it a gunfight? A bomb? Some unforeseen accident?  
  
Jim knew Loveless was trying to provoke him; and for all the doctor's twisted purposes, it was working. West gritted his teeth in disgust.  
  
If you must know, there was an inoperable growth on his brain.  
  
Natural causes? How.....disappointing. Loveless smiled at West, But then again, dead is still dead, isn't it Mr. West?  
  
Jim moved toward Loveless once more and was cut down by three men surrounding him. West dropped to the floor, unconscious.  
  
Marvin glared at Loveless, Speaking of rudeness, doctor, that was uncalled for.  
  
Loveless turned to Kesler, Take Mr. West and his new....friend to the pit, and see that they stay put.  
  
Why not just kill them now?  
  
Because, Kesler, I want Mr. West to see his government brought down and destroyed. Now get them out of here!  
  
*******  
  
Lawless could barely keep his eyes open, much less focused on the task at hand. He needed to rest his back on a soft bed, and sleep for two days. Kesler had forced him to go directly back to the railroad work following his latrine stint. He had a miserable headache, growling stomach, and the two cuts he received courtesy of Kesler's whip stung like bees. In short, he was as a cranky as he had ever been in his life.  
  
His eyes snapped to when he spotted Kesler and his gang escorting two men toward the area commonly known as the pit. At least now he knew what it was used for; but it didn't do a thing to lighten the tension he felt building up in his shoulders. He squinted in the low light of the mine shaft. He didn't know the first man, but the second he recognized as Secret Service agent James West. He had to assume that the small runty one was West's new partner. Lawless tried to picture them as a team, and could only see something akin to a vaudeville act gone bad.   
  
The Aussie observed Kesler shove the two men into the pit, and grimaced in sympathy as he heard them thud on the impact of landing. He pulled out his red bandana and wiped his brow, being careful to avoid the large gash above the right one. Kesler and his men headed back the way they came, and Lawless had to resist the urge to investigate the pit immediately.  
  
The element of surprise was on his side. Dr. Loveless would already be slightly off balance by the new team of West and what's-his-name; the last thing the good doctor would expect was interference by one Burton Lawless.....  
  
A small smile tugged at the Aussie's lips as he turned back to his work. The smile quickly dissipated as he remembered that surprise in this situation might be a double-edged sword.  
  
*******  
  
To be continued....  
  



	8. Chapter Eight

He had only slept for an hour or so, but that was all the time he could afford. He knew the who, and he'd lay odds that Jim West knew the why. The only thing left to do was put a stop to Miguelito Loveless one way or another. Lawless looked around the small cavern that served as the sleeping quarters for the working men; all was quiet. Carefully, he rolled out of his bunk and silently made his way out of the room, heading toward the main counterfeiting chamber.  
  
He was thankful that he encountered no one as he made his way through the tunnels. As far as he could figure it, the quickest way to end this in the short term was through sabotage of the equipment. Lawless turned into the room with the printing press, and a smile lit his lips. With Jim West under lock and key, and Artemus Gordon out of the picture, Loveless had grown over confident, and his security was now lax. The Aussie's plan had counted on that very mistake.  
  
Lawless pulled the counterfeit plates out of the machine, and shoved them into his pockets. He opened the containers of ink, dumping it out on the dirt floor. He then littered the room with the sheets of uncut counterfeit money, and all the blank paper he could find. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a match, lit it and set the entire chamber on fire. The next step was to disable the railway as Loveless' quick escape route, and then pull West and his new partner out of the pit.  
  
Hoisting himself into the narrow gauge steam engine, Lawless extracted a piece of putty from inside his pocket watch. He pressed the putty onto the bottom of the throttle stick, covering it all the way around. Next he pulled a wire from under his lapel, and inserted it into the putty. He took out another match, and lit the end of the wire, scuttling out of the conductor's cabin. A few moments passed, and he heard the minor concussion from inside the engine. Peering back into it, he smiled. The throttle was completely blown off. This train was going nowhere.  
  
For the final piece of destruction, Lawless pulled several small time bombs from the inside pockets of his coat. Retracing his steps along the track, he strategically placed the weapons along the tunnels. Anything could happen, and the last thing he wanted was to allow that madman Loveless, loose with his counterfeit money. No matter what else transpired, in thirty minutes, the whole mine would blow and collapse in on itself.  
  
Quickly moving through the tunnels, Lawless headed toward the pit. Sounds of men yelling filtered toward him, followed by an alarm. The fire in the printing room had been discovered. Lawless could only hope that most of the damage had already been inflicted. Men were running with buckets of water toward the room. At least with all the commotion, they would be too busy to notice the Aussie running toward the pit.  
  
Or so he thought. The voice of Kesler cut through all the extraneous noise in the tunnels.  
  
Not another step, Lawless, or I'll blow your head off.  
  
Lawless stopped on a dime, unmoving.  
  
Turn around with your hands in the air.  
  
Lawless complied slowly.  
  
Now why is that while every man is trying to put out the fire, you're heading in the opposite direction?  
  
The Aussie said nothing.  
  
Let's go.  
  
At gunpoint, Kesler led Lawless up through the tunnels toward the upper rooms, and Dr. Loveless.


	9. Chapter Nine

The little doctor was hopping mad by the time Kesler showed up with Lawless. He was screaming at Antoinette, who just patiently waited out his tantrum.  
  
How could this have happened? A fire in the middle of the night in a mine shaft. It isn't fair. It isn't fair I say!  
  
Miguelito, calm down. We can get more ink and paper--  
  
--Of course we can get ink and paper, Antoinette. The press is completely ruined. And worse than that, the plates are missing. MISSING. It was then that Loveless noticed Kesler and his charge. Kesler, what are you doing bringing this man up here at a time like this?  
  
I'm pretty sure he set the fire. I caught him heading in the opposite direction of the room while the rest of the men were trying to put out the blaze.  
  
So the man's a coward, Kesler, it doesn't mean he _started_ the fire.   
  
Loveless took a step closer to Lawless and squinted in concentration. The Aussie looked down at the floor, discomfort filling him. The doctor cocked his head in thought; there was something terribly familiar about the man.  
  
Where did you say you found him, Kesler?  
  
About twenty feet from the pit.  
  
An eyebrow shot up as the doctor understood what had transpired. He had been lulled into a false sense of security. In short, he had been had, and in no small manner. A frown creased his forehead; some part of this puzzle was missing. What he had seen on Jim West's face had been real. The pain and grief at the mention of his dead partner's name were not false. Agent West was many things, but outstanding actor was not one of them; that had always been Mr. Gordon's territory. A smile lit his lips as an idea came to him.  
  
Kesler, tie this man to a chair, and then bring Mr. West and Mr. Solomon here please.  
  
Kesler tied up the Aussie and headed for the door.  
  
I think we should get outta here. Without the equipment and plates, we're done fer...  
  
I think the plates are very close-by, Kesler. Isn't that right Mr.....?  
  
The Aussie looked at him defiantly, Lawless. Burton Lawless, mate.  
  
Loveless unsuccessfully tried to cover his smile as he reached into Lawless' coat pockets and pulled out the plates.  
  
Going into business for yourself?  
  
Don'tcha know what them plates is worth on the open market? These things is damn close to the real McCoy, mate.  
  
Loveless laughed, Yes, they're quite brilliant, aren't they? Very difficult to tell my money from the genuine article.....  
  
Kesler entered the room again, this time with West and Solomon in tow. The smaller agent was cradling his arm, and Lawless realized he must have injured it when he was pushed into the pit. West looked none the worse for wear, much to the Aussie's relief. Loveless smiled at the two men.  
  
Gentlemen, do come in. There's someone I want you to meet. The doctor turned toward the Aussie, What did you say your name was?  
  
Burton Lawless, hailin' from Sydney, Australia, mate.  
  
Jim's head snapped toward the man; the voice held a very familiar timbre. But he knew it couldn't be. His reaction wasn't lost on Loveless, who was enjoying himself immensely.  
  
Come, come, Mr. West.......are you trying to tell me you don't recognize this man?   
  
West's voice carried more edge in it than normal, I'm in no mood to play games with you, Loveless. As a matter of fact, I'm tired of this whole business--  
  
Jim quickly turned on Kesler, disarming him, and punching him in the face. Three other men started toward West, who responded with jabs, sending them careening through the room. Marvin tried to fight them off, but was quickly rendered unconscious by one of them. West turned toward Loveless at the sound of a cocking gun hammer. The little doctor was standing next to the man called Lawless, holding a .45 to his head. Jim froze.  
  
Now Mr. West, you must behave yourself. After all, you wouldn't want to lose Mr. Gordon a second time, would you?  
  
Loveless pulled off the putty nose, the wig and facial hair; and there, sitting not twenty feet from West, was Artemus Gordon. Jim was dumbfounded, and for several moments could only stare. Gordon could barely look at him. The disbelief in his partner's voice made Gordon's heart ache.  
  
  
  
It's really me, Jim.  
  
West couldn't speak. He was overcome with a flood of emotions that jumbled up so badly, he felt frozen in the moment. There was overwhelming joy, knowing Arte was alive; confusion over the circumstances; and on some level, a betrayal so deep, he didn't know what to feel.  
  
I do believe, Mr. Gordon, that you've finally rendered your partner speechless. And you should be ashamed of yourself, playing a dirty trick on him like that. Honestly, Artemus, didn't your mother teach you better manners than that?  
  
Arte glared at Loveless, but said nothing. He looked over at Jim, at the betrayal in the blue eyes, and he felt nothing but remorse.  
  
Well, now that you two have gotten reacquainted, it's time for me to put an end to this little reunion. Which one of you would like to go first?  
  
Go where, Loveless?  
  
To the great beyond, Mr. West, where else? Perhaps we should let Mr. Gordon go first, since he played such a rotten trick on you.  
  
Loveless pressed the gun into Gordon's temple, and Arte tensed up, fear filling the soft brown eyes. Out of reflex he looked pleadingly at West. Jim's voice was tight with strain.  
  
Loveless, wait! What about keeping us around to see you topple the government? That's what you said you wanted....  
  
I don't think so, Mr. West. I've changed my mind. You have already been far too much trouble for me, and I've grown weary of you.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, West could see Solomon moving his hand slowly toward a gun on the floor. Jim needed to stall a moment or two longer.  
  
Loveless, don't....please.  
  
Why Mr. West, I don't think I've ever heard you ask so nicely for anything. After what he put you through, however, you should thank me for killing him.  
  
Marvin grabbed the gun and tossed it to West.  
  
Jim, go!  
  
West fired at Loveless, blowing the gun out of his hand. Kesler and the other men in the room sprang once again at West, and Marvin began to untie Gordon. Once freed, Gordon and Solomon joined the free-for-all in the room. Fearing that it was a losing battle, several of the men took off, leaving only Kesler and one other. Always one to spot his moment, Loveless grabbed Antoinette by the hand, and the plates in the other and headed toward a secret elevator. Arte caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye.  
  
  
  
West headed toward the doctor, who turned, throwing a smoke bomb in Jim's face. West fell to his knees, overcome by the released gas. Kesler and the last man ran, leaving only Gordon and Solomon, who covered their faces with bandanas. Arte reached West and pulled him to his feet.  
  
He's probably heading toward the steam engine in the tunnels. Arte, we can't let him get away with those plates.  
  
He won't get out that way, Jim, the engine doesn't have a throttle anymore, and, we've gotta get out of here, now. I planted several bombs in the tunnels below, there are onlya few minutes left.


	10. Chapter Ten

Antoinette stepped into the train's engine car, followed by Loveless. He reached for the throttle, only to find it blown off and lying on the floor.  
  
Damn, damn! Damn that Artemus Gordon!  
  
An explosion nearby caused Antoinette scream.  
  
Miguelito! What are we going to do?  
  
He grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the engine, and further down the tunnel, stopping in front of a particular rock. With explosions going off around them, he stepped on a rock, revealing a small opening.  
  
Quick Antoinette, get in!  
  
But Miguelito, we'll be crushed in the explosions!  
  
Just get in, Antoinette! Hurry!  
  
Antoinette climbed into the opening, followed by Loveless, the plates falling out of his pockets in the process. Before he could reach for them, the panel slid closed, sealing them behind it.  
  
*******  
  
With Solomon leading the way, Arte helped Jim through the tunnels, moving upwards toward the way out. Just as they saw sunlight from outside peering at them, the percussive sounds of the explosions below filled their ears. The shaft began shaking, dirt and rock falling down upon them. They began to run as the collapse became imminent. Still groggy from the gas, Jim couldn't keep up. Arte threw him on his shoulder and moved as fast as he could. As the final explosions shook the mine and the walls closed in, the three men cleared the entryway.  
  
Jim landed on top of Arte as the ground shook the latter from his footing. Gordon rolled over, covering his friend from the falling debris. When the explosions stopped, Arte looked for Solomon, who was a few feet away, dusting himself off.  
  
You okay, there?  
  
The name's Marvin Solomon, and yes, Mr. Gordon, I'm fine. Is Jimmy all right?  
  
Arte's eyebrow shot up: _Jimmy?_ _  
  
_Yes, I think he is....  
  
Gordon turned his attention to West, gently patting his face.  
  
Jim? Hey buddy, you okay?  
  
West shook his head and opened his eyes, still feeling fuzzy.  
  
Yeah, Arte, I'm fine...  
  
Then he remembered: Arte had lied to him, resurrected himself from the dead, and they barely escaped Loveless with their lives. His blue eyes took on a fiery quality as he sate up.  
  
I've got a bone to pick with you, _buddy_.  
  
Now, Jim, there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for all this....  
  
Oh yeah?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Gordon looked away. He knew how much he had hurt Jim, and yet, there had been little choice. Then his eyes flicked up to his partner's. Jim held the soft brown eyes brimming with moisture for a long minute, and finally Arte spoke.  
  
I'm sorry, Jim. I really am.  
  
Why the hell didn't you just tell me?  
  
For the briefest of seconds, Arte thought about laying it on Richmond; but he couldn't lie to Jim, not again.   
  
Jim, Richmond knew that whomever was behind the counterfeiting, expected the President to send the two of us in; and the Colonel was afraid it was someone who knew us and our methods pretty well--  
  
--Why the hell didn't you tell me?  
  
I convinced Richmond that our best shot was the element of surprise--  
  
--That doesn't explain why you lied to me. Then it hit him, Oh damn. You knew that if it was someone like Loveless, he'd know the difference. You were afraid I'd give it away.  
  
Arte nodded, Yes. I am sorry, Jim. It was just safer for you to think that I was really dead. Besides, I could finally get back at you for all those times you've pulled one over on me. Now we're even.  
  
Jim stood up, and held his hand out for Arte, pulling the larger man up. As soon as Gordon was on his feet, West punched him hard, in the jaw, knocking him right back down. Arte rubbed his face and glared at his partner.  
  
Hey, what's the big idea?  
  
Jim held his hand out for Arte again, who reluctantly took it. West gently pulled him up.  
  
_Now_ we're even. He grabbed Gordon behind the neck and pulled him close, Don't you ever do that to me again, Arte. There were moments when I wasn't sure I'd make it.  
  
The big brown eyes filled with emotion, and Gordon pulled West into an embrace, holding him close.  
  
Forgive me, Jim.  
  
Arte's voice broke as a sob of remorse caught in his throat. Jim pat his back, then pulled away, smiling.   
  
You always have to get so damned emotional, Arte.....  
  
Jim cuffed Gordon behind the head, wrapping his arm around his best friend's neck as they walked toward the horses. Solomon followed at a discrete distance behind, feeling more like an intruder with each passing moment. Marvin had realized several things during his first field assignment: he wasn't cut out to be in the field; he envied the friendship these two men shared; and he couldn't wait to get back to Washington. He finally had the answer to the mystery of the West/Gordon breakup, and best of all, he had one helluva story to tell.


	11. Epilogue

Marvin stood in the open door, holding his suitcase. Jim faced him with an easy smile. Arte hovered a small distance away in the main car, not wishing to intrude upon Solomon's farewell, but curious to see what kind of partnership had developed between them in his absence.   
  
Jim shook Solomon's hand, If you ever need anything, Marvin, just let me know.  
  
Thanks, Jimmy, I appreciate that, but I don't think I'll be venturing out in the field again.  
  
Why not, Marvin? You did just fine for your first time out.  
  
The man's face lit up like a Christmas tree, Really? You really think so?  
  
Absolutely. I told Richmond that if anything ever does happen to Artemus, I'd like you to replace him.  
  
Wow. That's the nicest thing anybody's ever said to me! Good-bye, Jimmy!  
  
Bye-bye, Marvin.  
  
Arte stood with his arms crossed in front of his chest, glaring, as Jim closed the door and turned, a slightly impish smile curling his lips. Annoyance dripped from Arte's words.  
  
_Replace me?_ You think that boy can _replace_ me, James?  
  
A glint appeared in Jim's eyes, Well now, Arte, things went along quite smoothly while you were gone.  
  
Oh, really?  
  
Yeah. Solomon served me coffee and breakfast every morning. You never do that....  
  
Jim had to stifle a laugh as Arte's feathers became more ruffled by the moment.  
  
You're damned right I never do that, and I'm not about to start. Served you coffee every morning.....your days of luxury are over buddy boy....  
  
West watched in amusement as Arte slammed and banged through the car, muttering to himself. After a few minutes, he knew it was time to end the joke. Gordon had plopped unhappily on the divan. Jim stopped right behind him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.  
  
No one could ever replace you, Arte, and you know it. This place doesn't feel like home without you.  
  
Yes, well.....  
  
Jim reached his other hand down and squeezed both of Arte's shoulders leaning into his ear, Relax, Arte, every morning Solomon sang off-key at the top of his lungs, and spilled coffee all over me!  
  
Arte looked up into the mischievous face of the man he loved like a brother, and the two of them broke up laughing. Gordon stood up and playfully slapped Jim's arm.  
  
I feel like cooking tonight. What'll ya have?  
  
We have any steaks in there?  
  
I'm sure we do. How about steak au poivre and the finest champagne?  
  
Jim's face dissolved into a smile, I'd love it, Arte.  
  
Gordon disappeared through the door, and Jim sat down on the divan. For the first time in awhile, he felt calm, whole. The singing from the galley car floated out to him, surrounding him like a warm breeze. Arte's voice was soft and mellifluous as he sang:  
  
_Oh bury me not on the lone prairie,  
Where the coyotes howl, and the wind blows free;  
In a cold, cold grave, do not bury me.  
Oh bury me not, on the lone prairie._  
  
Jim shook his head at his friend's choice of songs. Arte always did love a morbid and twisted joke in his humor. West didn't care, as long as he had his partner back, that was all that mattered.   
  
Arte continued singing as he prepared the meal. In some ways, it was cathartic for him. Whether Jim realized it or not, it had cost Arte a great deal to perpetrate such a lie on his best friend. It was something he knew he could never do again. He couldn't think about it anymore; he had his partner back, and that was all that mattered.   
  
It was good to be home.  
  
The End


End file.
